“Could be a poltergeist,” Cyra whispered to Gunn, unable to pull her gaze off the stacked chairs defying gravity. A shiver clawed up her arms, and she rubbed them. Her experience thus far had come in the form of ghosts and spells, not handling darkness from Hell. Sending her here had to have been a mistake, but Argos trackers were notorious for being accurate, or so they’d told her during training. They didn’t misjudge assignments.

Gunn didn’t say a word as he moved past her. He grabbed a chair’s leg and yanked it away from the table.

Silence.

Cyra had expected the rest of the chairs to come crashing down, but none budged. He set the chairs back on the floor, one by one, and she joined him, figuring the old couple would freak at the sight.

“The way I see it,” Gunn began, “no one is possessed, so I’m guessing it’s a speck demon attached to an object. And it’s playing with us.”

“Or an angry spirit that needs to cross over.” Cyra pushed another chair under the table, the wooden frame icy to the touch. Thankfully, the personal cleansing she’d done on herself before arriving would help, though there were no promises something wouldn’t latch on to her. Life didn’t come with guarantees; otherwise, she’d wouldn’t have lost her parents at a young age, or her grandpa last year. While her brother annoyed her, she loved him. He and her grandma were all she had left in the world, and that was why she had jumped at the chance to work with Argos—to be closer to him, but not in his pocket like they would be had they lived together. Plus, she believed in paying it forward and helping others in need, as it might prod the universe to send her good luck.

The temperature climbed from freezing to semi-normal. Though, with the array of appliances on the bench top, marble walls, and bronze stove, she doubted anything in this kitchen was normal for your average person.

Gunn had his lasso in hand and dragged the loop across the various gadgets in the kitchen, determined to prove his point. And while she appreciated his tenacity, this was her first gig, and she didn’t need some hotshot demon hunter coming in and claiming it as his own.

“If it was a speck, how did the woman see an apparition?” she reminded Gunn. Not to mention, she’d seen one herself in a bedroom from outside, and it had been a terrifying son of a bitch. But it was just a spirit. Had to be. Then why was she shivering?

Gunn pressed his back against the sink, the light from the window behind it giving him a glowing effect, almost angelic. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. But then again, she’d only heard stories about the guy. He never spoke with her and usually just walked away if she approached him. She got it. He wasn’t interested, and that was fine by her because one arrogant beefed-up man in her life was plenty enough—Chase.

And sure, Gunn might be the lord of deliciousness, making her libido twist into the shape of a pretzel, but that meant jack if he saw her as his friend’s baby sister.

Whatever! Just get the mission completed, ace it for Argos, and go home. She had a casserole to bake for Christmas and there was more of the Argos training manuals to read. Hell, her life was a snorefest! And she couldn’t sit around gawking at Gunn either. She had a cleansing to finish. Taking a deep breath, she pulled away and approached the doorway.

“Where are you off to?” Gunn’s voice deepened.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, she noticed him retracting the loop of his lasso and placing the weapon onto his belt. “I’m completing what I started before you almost killed me.”

He scowled, and she strolled away. If she intended to show everyone she wasn’t incompetent, she needed to be smart about her approach. The best way forward was to ensure her blessings worked on the house so well, she’d blast every unwanted spirit into space. And that required a bit of her magical intervention.

With her backpack collected from outside, she returned to the kitchen and selected a ceramic bowl from the cupboard. Gunn’s stare remained on her, but she kept going. She dug into her bag, searching among the raven’s feathers, animal bones, and even garlic bulbs, until she found a tiny plastic container.

She emptied the contents into the bowl. Sage, an iron nail, a spare key, sandalwood oil, black yarn, and a clean chicken bone.

Wait! Where’s the pine cone? She dove back in, not feeling the prickly culprit, and sighed. Then she recalled having used it last week when she’d cast a teensy weensy spell on her neighbor’s dog who barked continuously all night long. The sleepy spell confirmed that as soon as midnight hit, the pooch fell into dreamland like a baby until sunrise. And ever since, she’d had the best night’s sleep.

But she should have remembered to top up her supplies. Studying the kitchen, she scanned the counter, the bowl of red glossy apples, the mixer and coffee machine. The speakers in the walls, the knives attached to the wall.

“What’re you doing?” Gunn’s low baritone voice made her flinch as she’d forgotten he stood behind her.

Something flashed beneath the surface of his stilted expression, as if he might break out into a smile, but the emotion disappeared too quick.

“You know what they say about curiosity?” She turned away when her attention settled on a tiny magnetic wreath on the fridge. And her mind flew to the real one she’d spotted at the entrance when she’d first arrived, cram-packed with what she needed.

Rocking onto her heels, she rushed past Gunn and hurried down the hallway. She popped her head into the living room. “Nora, do you mind if I take one of the pine cones from your wreath, please?”

“Yes, take it. Whatever you need in the house, please use.” She nodded, and Cyra hoofed it toward the front door, which remained wide open. A rush of cold air circled her as she studied the decoration. She reached for a pine cone, but it didn’t budge. All those plastic ties and the glue held it in place.

“Guessing you’re planning a spell?” Gunn’s voice carried from deeper in the house as he strolled closer, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, strutting his stuff as if he were on a runway. He had that rugged look where he probably spent two seconds on his morning routine. Drag on a T-shirt, jeans, and run your fingers through your hair. And yep, the look undid her, but when she met his charming smirk, she refocused on her job.

“And if I am?” With her hand wedged over a pine cone and her other palm on the wreath, she yanked. It gave a smidgen. Yes! “If I cleanse the house, I might as well amplify and drive whatever’s here out.”

“Are you experienced enough to do this?”

She twisted in his direction. “What sort of question is that? I was hired by Argos to do their spells, so yeah, I’m qualified. Geez.” With her attention on the task, she sensed Gunn step closer, the heat from his body leaping over to her, pushing away the earlier frost.

“Means nothing,” he said, his voice bugging her. “You’re still in training.” His cockiness grated on her nerves twofold.

“Yeah, well, you don’t understand what how spell casting works. So if you don’t mind.” She pulled at the object again. Come on, you little shit.

“I could watch this all day.” Gunn leaned a shoulder into the door, his grin widening. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“And you’re the expert at mauling a wreath?” With a huff, she really put her muscles into her attempt to rip the sucker free.

He reached out in front of her, his hand on another pine cone on the wreath. She stared at Gunn, who had his gaze locked on her, their bodies inches apart. “When something stands in your way,” he said, “you need a different approach.” A snap sounded, and she dropped her gaze to see Gunn holding a loose pine cone in his fist. He placed it in her palm, pressing her fingers around the spiky item. “And never be afraid to ask for help.”

“Really? You, Mr. Macho, saying to ask for help? I don’t believe it.”

He laughed, deep and raw, not the fake kind he often used when chuckling at her brother’s lame jokes. “Baby girl, we weren’t talking about me.”

“Okay, interesting chat then.” This might be the longest conversation they’d had, but clearly, his arrogance knew no bounds, and yet her libido still craved him and set her knees into a jelly wobble in his presence. But she’d seen him when he thought no one watched, the darkness sliding across his gaze, the way he transformed into a loner. He put on an act in front of others, but beneath lay a person with a heavy past. Why else would Chase insist he was broken? Her grandma had once said that everyone lived with hardship one way or another and to never judge them. Something about Gunn made her want to get to know him, understand what hurt him, and how to make his smiles genuine, not fake.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she expected some smartass comment, so she marched away from him before she shoved the pine cone into his mouth.

Scooping up the bowl of ingredients in the kitchen, along with the lighter from her pocket and the smudge stick from the backpack, she headed into the backyard. She might not smoke, but she carried fire with her everywhere. Best way to kick-start most spells. Plus, it helped create a badass flamethrower when coupled with a can of hairspray if anyone attacked her.

Crouching on the back porch, she lit the items in the bowl, then whispered a chant. “Iron and bone. Strengthen the protection on this home.” With her palms cupping the tiny flame, she concentrated, imagining energy entering through the crown of her head and down through her arms and into the potion. “Be powerful, unstoppable, secure.” She clapped, and a puff of smoke swirled upward, curling toward the open rear door and into the house. She lit one end of the sage stick with the fire. Once done, she thanked the energies and closed the circle, then took the bowl into the kitchen sink and poured water over the contents.

Once she returned out front to commence her cleansing, a sense of being watched left her skin feeling itchy. She studied the windows. No one was around.

She went back to work, but she couldn’t get Gunn out of her head. Of all the hunters, why’d Chase have to send him? Levi or Saxon would be fine. At least they spoke to her and treated her like their younger sister, making jokes. They’d work with her as a team, not provoke her.

The feathery buzz of energy bubbled across her flesh again. A constant reminder she wasn’t alone. Nearby stood Gunn’s bike propped against a tree, and a different kind of tingling dove deep into her pit. Something about him made her soft and excited at the same time. And she hated herself for it. She approached his motorbike and blessed it, just in case. No harm in keeping him safe too.

Before going indoors, she grabbed her phone and sent Chase a quick text.

Two seconds later, her phone chimed with a response.

Close by! Bull. He’d told her it had taken forty-five minutes to get to the house. So why had Gunn been so determined to come and check on her? That earlier tingle in her gut surged again with the possibility that he’d wanted to see her privately? Yeah, right. The real scenario was that none of Chase’s other friends had said yes to playing babysitter, and Chase had probably begged and pleaded for Gunn to keep an eye on her. That thought pissed her off because that was how everyone saw her. A child. A nineteen-year-old needing protection.

In the house, she stormed past the living room, where Gunn sat across from Henry, who said, “Last thing we bought was a new fridge, but that was six months ago.”

She squared her shoulders and moved to the rear of the house, starting with the kitchen and moving counter-clockwise to every room. With her smudge stick in hand, a feather and a lighter, she was ready.

By the time she reached the laundry room, she’d completed all other rooms on the ground level, including the living room, where everyone remained and where the magic circle had started.

Atop the washing machine lay a dead goose. These folks had to be old school if they bought a fancy goose for their Christmas meal, intending to pluck the feathers and roast it. The most elaborate thing Cyra did in the kitchen was leave the potato skins on before throwing them into boiling water. Though she’d been experimenting recently, adding paprika and sour cream to her mashed potatoes. Delicious.

She made a quick wave of the smoke across the room and over the dead goose, whispering, “Cleanse this space of negative vibes, thoughts and intentions. All energies not of the light are not welcome. Be gone and never return. Surround this home with positive energy.”

Next, she climbed the stairs, figuring she’d continue there and then loop back down to where she’d started to seal her banishment and protection spell. In the first room, she found a grand king-sized bed drenched in sunlight from outside that beamed through Tudor-styled windows draped in lace curtains. She lit the smudge for more smoke, and a thick plume whisked upward. With her feather, she flicked the fumes outward as she moved from corner to corner.

That was four rooms completed, and while no strangeness had occurred, ease settled on her shoulders. Yep, the amplifying spell did the trick all right. She could feel the calmness in her bones. Or it could mean she hadn’t discovered the nest where the culprit hid. All spirits had a safe zone, a location with significance to them, so she just had to find its location.

At the end of the hall, she reached a closed door. She turned the metal handle to find a set of steps leading up to the attic. Where else would the supernatural reside? She smiled to herself, though the hairs on her nape lifted.

At her grandma’s farmhouse, she’d once encountered a ghost in the barn when she was fifteen, and it had been a bastard who’d wanted nothing more than to scare her. But she’d defeated it with a purification ritual, and she would do the same here.

With a deep breath, she climbed the stairs and entered a dim room. Streaks of light poured in from broken slats on the windows. Stacked boxes littered the area, along with a cabinet and even an old writing desk. Up close, she wiped her hand across the dusty surface. Mahogany. These people had a lot of money to put something this gorgeous in storage.

The floorboard creaked behind her, and she spun, saying, “You can’t scare me, Gunn. Stop messing around.” Except the place stood empty. Probably the house making sounds, as they always do with the shift of weather. She headed to the farthest corner and began her blessing.

Something tapped her foot. She flinched and glanced down to find a marble rolling away. Okay, she worked for Argos, which meant she couldn’t run screaming when strange things happened. Besides, she could have dislodged the ball from under a cabinet when she stepped on a loose floorboard.

But when a low growl emanated from the back of the room, every inch of her grew icy. She could have sworn a dog had closed in on her. Did Henry have a dog and forget to tell her?

She twisted around, her fingers gripping the smudge stick.

No one was at the open door. “I’m not afraid of you. It’s time for you to leave and stop frightening Henry and Nora. This isn’t your home anymore.”

Scared ghosts often resorted to growls or scaring people when they didn’t understand where they were or what was happening to their home. And she might have hit the jackpot on nailing the nest.

She broke into her prayer and turned toward the far corner near the cabinet. “Cleanse this—”

But her words flat-lined when an enormous black figure lifted itself from a pile of fabric on the floor in front of her.

Her hand shook with the smudge stick. Her heart clanged against her chest. Wings! She recoiled, her stomach churning in tense cramps.

The wings stretched out at least three feet on either side, reminding her of a bat. The figure wore a black necklace with small, dark decorations on it… Was it its previous victims’ bones?

A growl rumbled through the room, shaking the floorboards beneath her feet.

“God, no!” She flexed her muscles, ready to run out of there screaming.

Taking a few steps backward, she stopped, having forgotten her Argos training. She used all her strength to not turn and bolt. “Y…You aren’t w…welcome here.”

An icy finger snaked down her spine. She trembled, unable to stop staring at the monster. As much as she told herself it was a spirit, Gunn’s words about it being demonic kept circling in her mind like vultures.

Was this a demon?

She wasn’t trained to take them down. Her specialty was spirits, cleansing, and hexes. She hadn’t even completed her training on creating demon safety spells at Argos. That’s why they’d sent her on this mission: it was supposed to be safe and easy. Their exact words. Thank goodness she had accepted Argos’s offer to get a protection rune inked on her inner arm to deter demons from possessing her.

Except now she felt anything but safe.

Terror shackled her in the attic as a paralyzing pain spread through her body.

The demonic figure twitched on the spot, then catapulted toward her with such speed, she stumbled backward, fear crowding in her brain.

She screamed.

It collided into her chest, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Fire engulfed her, searing her from the inside out. And at once, her world blackened.